Whatever this ball had meant to be, it seems its original purpose was lost as everyone divided themselves into various cliques. Chatting away about royal duties and newfound gossip amongst ladies in waiting and eligible bachelors. Or of wars happening far away, with no hope of ending anytime soon. Wars caused no doubt, by the man who had just entered.

The ballroom falls silent as he walks in, head held up high as some-mostly women- cowered in fear beside their husbands. All eyes watching as he makes a beeline for a particular person in the middle of the dance floor, a small smirk on his lips. "You couldn't wait until my arrival to start dancing with some imbecile? Pathetic." Pushing your dance partner away, he places one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip. "Perhaps our conversation can improve your night, after all, I must address the letters I sent you." While others nervously watched, he twirls you around. "My messenger says you love to burn them in your bedroom, with no shame as to how expensive those parchments and ink can be."